We weighed in a day late this week because my partner in crime had a work meeting during our normal weigh in time. Yes, we could have gone before or after, but we didn't. We waited until today.
It was a hard week. I was outrageously hungry last Friday and I don’t know why. Perhaps I was still on a high from dropping so much the week before. Over the weekend, I wasn't so well behaved. I had some pizza. I had some birthday cake. I celebrated my weight loss with beer and a nice single-serving size bottle of wine.
I also spent a bit of time on the treadmill. I do get some credit for that, people!
I wasn't surprised to see my weight go up when I weighed myself Monday morning. But I was ok with the gain, I had the whole week to watch what I ate, track points, etc. After two days of being really good, my weight shot up Wednesday morning… almost back up to where I started.
What. The. Fuck.
I spent Wednesday in a vile mood. I tracked every morsel that went in my mouth. I was such a bitch that I tried to cheer myself up by saving points for a glass of wine during Nashville. I was happy on Thursday morning to see my weight going back down. Phew.
I looked back over the week and I realized that on several days, I left points on the table. Meaning of the measly few I get every day, I didn't use them all up. In my brain, I thought, “Good, I’ll lose even more.” For some absurd reason, it doesn't work that way. It seems that if you eat less than your allotted amount, your body hoards everything that enters it. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but that was my experience this week.
So, weigh in. today. Down .2. Yes, that says POINT TWO, it’s not a speck of dust on your screen. Better down than up, that’s all I have to say.
No, one more thing. I’m pissed. REALLY pissed. I decided last week that every time I lose a total of five pounds, I’d buy myself a prize. Something small, maybe a scarf or a sweater… Looks like I don’t get to buy jack shit this week.